


The Real Beauty Of Being A Star

by etoilelouis



Category: One Direction (Band), Walls - Louis Tomlinson (Album)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26344837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilelouis/pseuds/etoilelouis
Summary: Behind the façade, the world of Louise isn't as perfect as everyone thinks it is.What's Louise's normal is the worst thing possible for others.What can a certain blue eyed boy change about that?Actually a lot, as you will see.
Kudos: 1





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna say this once: this story contains sexual assault, violence, foul language and all this hard stuff.
> 
> If this isn't for you, PLEASE DON'T READ IT !!
> 
> [Also, there is a lot of fluff and overloaded cuteness but your mental safety is far more important, so please consider my warnings before reading the story]
> 
> Now, let's get this bread! 😼😼
> 
> *high fives herself*
> 
> ______________________________________
> 
> Social Media:  
> Instagram: etoilelouis  
> Wattpad: annabyharrystyles

No one ever notices my empty eyes and my hollow inside.

But how would they?

I'm perfect. Perfect at hiding.

Hiding the bruises on my body. Hiding the hairless patches on my head. Hiding the bruises on my face.

I'm perfect. Perfect looking.

_Looking like a doll, sweetie. Looking so good for me. Looking sexy is important, sweetheart._

I know I'm pretty. Loads of people told me.

_Your eyes are so beautiful, they look like the sea._

You don't want them, Mia.

_Ugh, I wish I'd have your hair. The light chestnut brown is so pretty, it looks like flowing caramel._

You don't want it, Lisa.

_Your cheekbones could cut someone!_

Thanks Bethany, I wish they really could.

_What's your workout routine? You're so fit, it's honestly unfair._

Try running from home twice a week, then you'll have a nice little body like me. Yeah, try that, Kim.

_Why did you cut your hair? It was so long, now it barely reaches your breasts!_

Did you know shorter hair cannot be grabbed and pulled as easily as long hair? Maybe that's why, Courtney.

I don't want to be pretty anymore.

_Wear this or they'll hate you. Do you want that? Do you really want that?_

I have to be pretty.

_That's right, sweetheart. Being pretty is the only thing you're able to do._

It's the only thing I know.

I've been pretty for as long as I can remember.

I've been perfect for as long as I can remember.

Perfect grades, perfect looks, perfect kid.

That's me.

I'm perfect.

I'm Louise.


	2. AIR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexual assault, violence, foul language - please don't read if you're triggered by these things!

Air.

I can't breathe.

My lungs are hurting, it feels like they're going to explode.

_Lay still, look pretty._

His hands are rambling over my body, touching every inch and leaving invisible burning patches on the cold skin.

I feel his fingers tracing over my ribs, my collar bones and the momentum of my shoulders.

My blouse is ripped open yet again, the second one in three days.

Roaming around my body, his fingers touch the clasp of my bra.

There's nothing I can do.

He unclips it and slips his hand under. When the tips of his fingers close around my nipple, I gasp for air.

Mistaking it for pleasure, he strongens his grip and grinds his hips into mine.

At this point, the tears want to break free but I learned not to give in and just not move at all. I need to keep my breathing steady as well, if he notices my discomfort it's just going to be worse.

But when he moans into my ear loudly, I can't help and wince.

The heaviness on my body gets a bit lighter when he props himself up on his arms. His cold yet aroused stare is directed towards my eyes which are filled with tears, trying not to spill. I'm not even looking at him, my gaze turned towards the ceiling just as he told me to do.

"Louise, sweetie. This is to please you. You know, nobody else wants you. I'm the only one that knows you. My pretty little Louise."

The words leave his lips with fake affection and his hand caresses my cheek. I try not to flinch at the sudden warmth touching the bruises from last week. They're still sensitive and it really hurts to pad the foundation over them.

Nevertheless a hiss escapes my throat and I nearly sob.

When he attaches his hand to my throat I try to pull it off but I am far too weak for the simple action.

"Why are you crying? Nobody wants a little slut like you! You should be happy that I'm doing this!"

I can hear the anger soaking his timbre and shut my eyes close.

I know.

I know.

I know.

"You know what this means. Say it." he spits in my face.

What's about to come is what it leads to every time.

I don't feel like ignoring his words today, don't feel like getting beaten up today.

So I follow his order.

"I'm worthless. The only thing that defines me is my body and my face. I'm worthless. Nobody wants me." I choke out, his hand on my throat still making it hard to breathe.

"Not good enough!" he shouts and jumps up.

And I know that.

I know that I'm not good enough. I deserve this. But I don't want it.

I'm laying still, my body not able to move. Every muscle in it is frozen, I can't feel anything.

Today is worse than other days. Sometimes I just need to talk, sometimes it's just the beating, sometimes (actually most times) it's just the touching, sometimes it's all three.

Such a day is today.

When I feel his fingers wrap around my arm, just to drag me off the matress onto the floor, my cheek hits the scratchy black carpet and I wince under my breath.

I'm praying that someone hears my cries.

But no one ever does. The world is selfish. They don't even pay attention to me in the slightest bit.

They as in my teachers. They as in my classmates. They as in my neighbors.

As I feel the first punch in my stomach, I start to get numb. It's the same procedure every time. It starts with my stomach, then my legs, then my arms, then my head.

As I lay on the floor, my body getting thrown around, knuckles connecting to my pale skin, I should probably feel pain.

The only thing I feel is my heart thumping in my chest, bleeding frustration.

I can never stop him.


End file.
